


Froger Week

by BisexualRoger (HyperPluviophile)



Category: Bohemian Rhapsody (Movie 2018), Queen (Band)
Genre: Bubble Bath, Domestic Fluff, First Kiss, Fluff and Humor, Friends to Lovers, Hurt/Comfort, Internalized Homophobia, Light Angst, M/M, Minor Injuries, Sickfic, Sleepy Cuddles
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-05
Updated: 2019-11-10
Packaged: 2021-01-23 11:54:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 12,139
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21319765
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HyperPluviophile/pseuds/BisexualRoger
Summary: A series of vaguely connected one shots about two clueless idiots falling in love.
Relationships: Freddie Mercury/Roger Taylor
Comments: 63
Kudos: 82
Collections: Froger!Week 2019





	1. Prompts

**Author's Note:**

  * For [emma_and_orlando](https://archiveofourown.org/users/emma_and_orlando/gifts).

> So, I wasn't going to participate in any of the Queen ship weeks because I've got other fics that I've been working on and I'm just too busy, but ashfhfjkf naturally I just couldn't say no to emmaandorlando and well, here we are. I'm not especially proud of these but I hope they're ok and I hope you guys enjoy reading them nonetheless 💗 I'm also really looking forward to reading everyone else's contributions xx

Prompt Summaries (Also known as the gratuitous contents page) So uh, yeah. Each fic is a oneshot that can be read on its own but they're all vaguely connected and link to a wider story. Some are better than others so if you don't enjoy one maybe try another 💗

Day 1- Kensington Market. It's cold. Roger wants to go home and Freddie wants to be able to afford food for the next week. Reprehensible methods for earning money ensue.

Day 2- Bubble Bath. Freddie returns to the flat after a bought of bronchitis and Roger is surprisingly sweet about it.

Day 3- Aftercare. Someone gets taken care of after being mugged and kisses are totally platonic (Because yes I'm still afraid of writing smut so this is now just fluff and nothing else)

Day 4- Drunk Confessions. A game of spin the bottle goes slightly wrong and Roger is definitely not gay.

Day 5- Domestic Fluff. In which no one makes it to university on time because school sucks but beds are warm.

Day 6- Hate sex. Feelings are hurt and there's a cliché confession.

Day 7- Hand Holding. Roger and Freddie get horrendously wine drunk and Brian is not impressed.


	2. Day 1- Kensington Market

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's cold. Roger wants to go home and Freddie wants to be able to afford food for the next week. Reprehensible methods for earning money ensue.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sh it's still Monday and I definitely didn't get up at five am just so I could finish this. I'll be honest out of everything I've written for froger week this is my least favourite (idk the words just weren't flowing and there's no atmosphere and it goes nowhere) BUT I hope someone still manages to enjoy it and asdfjghjkl I hope it doesn't put you guys off for the rest of the week because I promise everything else I've written is better 💗 xx 
> 
> (Also I don't proofread so I'm sorry if there's any glaring mistakes)

For October it’s absolutely utterly bone chillingly cold. Something that’s undoubtedly less of an inconvenience for those lucky enough to be able to afford central heating or a good meal (or both) but as perpetually broke students Freddie and Roger are naturally having to survive without either. Which, in near subzero temperatures, is less than ideal. And it’s only made worse by the fact that it being a Sunday, they’ve had to sacrifice the little warmth they’ve managed to generate in their own beds and make the arduous journey to Kensington market. 

Not that they’d have missed out on any significant business, thinks Roger bitterly from his corner of makeshift blankets on the floor, given that everyone with any sense has wisely decided to stay home. 

With this in mind he watches Freddie bustle around the shop. He himself is working under the logic that if he buries himself under enough clothes in deep enough he might eventually be somewhat warm again, but his companion is at least trying to convince himself that if he just manages to clear up a bit they’ll be able to sell something. It’s an admirable approach, if not a little delusional. Especially since there’s an air of wanness to Freddie as he moves clothes back and forth. 

“Need a hand with that?” Asks Roger after a while. Not because he particularly wants to help, but more because he feels guilty for not doing so. 

Freddie shakes his head stiffly “No, it’s alright. The harder the work is the warmer I’ll be” He’s talking through gritted teeth, jaw instinctively locking together from how cold it is. 

“At this point I think you’d be warmer if the ceiling fell in. Not like it can get any worse. Did you notice the ice on the inside of the windows before we left the flat?” 

“How could I miss it?” Freddie bends down awkwardly and moves a discarded fur coat off the floor in order to then clumsily wrap it around a mannequin in the window. There’s a definite air of subduedness to him that’s far from his usual vibrance. Which of course could be attributed to the cold, but Roger’s sure he’s not imagining that his friend is paler than normal, with an uncharacteristic weight to his movements 

Perhaps he’s getting ill. There’s definitely something going around at the moment; Brian’s missed two Smile rehearsals on account of being too dizzy to get out of bed, meanwhile all of Roger’s lectures are punctuated by choruses of coughing fits. All things considered it’ll probably be nothing short of a miracle if both he and Freddie survive the Autumn term unscathed, so it wouldn’t be surprising if the other man is indeed coming down with something. 

In which case him ambling around the shop is hardly going to help. 

Sitting up as best he can without losing any of his makeshift blankets Roger says “I don’t want to make this afternoon even worse but I really don’t think anyone’s coming” 

“Don’t be so cynical” Replies Freddie “It’ll only take one customer, and then we’ll be able to go home and eat something and do some bloody relaxing. I’m not risking losing a single sale just because this place is a tip” The tone he’s going for is motivational but it just comes across as desperate and tired. 

Surveying the clothes around him on the floor Roger shrugs, “It’s not that bad. It’s looked worse” 

Freddie raises an eyebrow “That’s like saying you shouldn’t replace your off milk, just because it could be mouldier” 

“That’s an awful analogy. The off milk might kill you, but the shop being a bit of a mess won’t” 

“So you admit it’s a mess then?” Grins Freddie. It doesn’t quite reach his eyes but it’s the most animated he’s been all day, so Roger’s not going to complain “And it’s a damn perfect analogy thank you. If you don’t replace the milk then you’ll have nothing to drink. If we don’t manage to sell something we’ll have nothing to eat” 

“Fair enough” Being too cold to bother pursuing the matter Roger lets it drop. Having let Freddie distract him with his ridiculous analogy he returns to silently observing as Freddie retrieves a particularly ugly hat from the floor. However it’s only a few minutes later when he notices that Freddie’s fingers are starting to turn an alarming purple at the edges that he decides he’s had enough of this unnecessary martyrdom “Sod it, the shop looks fine now. Stop torturing yourself and come under here. No one’s coming” 

Freddie sniffs “You’ll thank me later when someone-” 

“Shut up” Roger rolls his eyes and lifts the coats as little as is necessary to let the other man under. 

Despite his performative protests Freddie wastes no time plastering himself to Roger’s side, arms shakily wrapping around the blonds torso. It’s a little odd, but then they’ve always been a little touchy feely (even more so now they’re sharing a flat) and Roger’s not going to sacrifice an opportunity to make himself warmer just because he’s too “manly” to get cosy with his best friend. So he silently returns the embrace, only recoiling when he brushes against a pair of freezing cold fingers 

“Bloody hell your hands are cold” He mutters. 

“Are they?” Asks Freddie “I can’t feel them” 

“Well keep them away from me” 

A glint of delight ignites in Freddie’s eyes “Are you sure you don’t want me to do this with them instead?” Lunging across he wraps one arm around Roger’s shoulder to keep him in place and with the other tries to shove his freezing digits down Roger’s back. 

“Fuck off fuck off fuck off-” Roger bats his hands away “I’m cold enough as it is without you doing that” 

Only when he’s sure that there’s no further danger of being assaulted does he move back closer towards Freddie, the desire to siphon his body heat outweighing the fear of having cold hands touch his bare skin. Truth be told, despite his complaints he is at least noticeably warmer now that he’s not alone on the floor. Not so much that he could be described as anything other than “still freezing his arse off” but it’s something of an improvement. He’s gone from too cold to focus on anything else, to slightly less cold, but more aware that ontop of that he’s now hungry. 

Being a sturdy twenty something the brown banana he’d wolfed down at breakfast several hours early hadn’t been enough to abate his appetite. If only he had the energy or the money to venture out into the streets of London. Doubtless there’s someone out there selling pies, or wraps or falafels. The thoughts alone make his mouth water. 

“Do you think if we called Brian he’d be nice enough to bring us some pasties?” He asks. 

“Maybe, if you promised to let him have a solo every gig, scribe his phd, clean his flat once a week and call him your highness for the rest of the year” Snorts Freddie. 

“Don’t tempt me” Much as that all sounds shit at the moment it’s still sightly more appealing than freezing to death on an empty stomach. As best he can under the clothes Roger rubs his hands together “Dear God where is everyone? It’s a bloody Sunday. What else do they have to do except go to Church and then spend money to drown their Catholic guilt?” It’s whining for the sake of whining, but there’s only Freddie to hear him so he might as well. 

Despite the question being rhetorical Freddie chuckles “Well I’d imagine they’re doing what any rational person is doing right now, they’re at home with a cup of tea and the heating on” 

“Well that’s just bloody ridiculous. Why aren’t they here paying us?” 

“It’s criminal it really is” Agrees Freddie, only able to keep up the guise of being deadly serious for a second before he and Roger make eye contact and break down into a fit of laughter. 

Roger’s just opening his mouth to make a follow up remark when he’s interrupted by a high pitched voice calling out from the front of the shop “Hello?” 

Freddie and Roger stare at each other. In their antics they’d completely missed the arrival of a customer. Throwing the coats off themselves they practically trip over one another in their haste to make sure that their potential buyer doesn’t leave, and more importantly, that when she does it’s with an item of clothing. Preferably an expensive one.

Gazing at the fur coat Freddie had placed there not half an hour earlier stands a woman with vibrant auburn hair and warm brown eyes. There’s a faint hint of a smirk on her face as Freddie and Roger trip into her line of vision and she says “I’m sorry, I was just admiring the coat in the window” 

“Ah yes. That one is lovely” Says Freddie. He does his best to subtly smooth down the creases in his shirt and slip into his business persona, moving immediately to remove the coat from the window so she can have a better look. 

“Big fan of fur coats?” Asks Roger 

The woman nods “They’re very in right now. And what with the weather being so grim I feel as though I’m going to start needing one” 

“Well I’m a bit biased as you can see, but I think you’re absolutely right” Having wrestled the coat back off the mannequin Freddie holds it out to her, fingers delicately brushing against the surface of the fabric while he ushers her towards the mirror “You can try it on if you like”

The woman wastes no time slipping it around her shoulders before turning in front of the mirror “Wow…” As she moves she keeps eye contact with her reflection in the mirror, seemingly transfixed “When’s it from?” 

“1946” Cooes Roger “It’s vintage but it’s not old fashioned, if you know what I mean” 

“Hmm. And it suits you beautifully” Adds Freddie.

They’re undoubtedly laying the flattery on a little too thick, but that doesn’t stop the woman from asking how much it is nonetheless. It takes all of Roger’s willpower not to laugh when Freddie nonchalantly declares it to be no less than three pounds. Even a new coat straight off the rack would be considered steep at that amount. 

“That’s a little out of my price bracket sadly” Says the woman. With a performatively slow hesitancy she sheds the jacket, holding it reluctantly back out to Freddie. 

A beat of time passes. Freddie sighs, casting his eyes dramatically over to Roger before sucking his teeth and saying “I’ll tell you what, it really does seem like a shame for you not to have it” He pushes her hand back gently “We don’t do this often… but perhaps if we dropped the price from three to two pounds?” 

“You’d really do that?” The woman’s eyes light up in delight and Roger has to cover his snort of laughter. 

“Don’t shout about it” He smiles “Else everyone’ll be coming here looking for a discount” 

“Aw” She clasps the coat tight to her chest and looks between the pair with shining eyes “Thank you so much” 

“It’s nothing really. Everyone deserves to be able to treat themselves once in a while” And as if Roger weren’t close enough to hysterics as it is, Freddie punctuates this with a wink. 

For an incredibly basic trick it’s surprisingly effective; set the price several pounds higher than is reasonable, and then make a big show of lowering it because they like the customers eyes, hair, personality, shoe brand etc. Because no matter how cheesy or ridiculous, flattery seems to work every time. As long as Roger doesn’t break down into a fit of laughter by giving the game away. 

He watches as the woman pulls a crisp pound note from her purse. In the grand scheme of things it’s far from being big money, but it’ll cover dinner tonight and hopefully commuting costs for the rest of the week, and it’s all Roger can do to keep himself from literally drooling over it. 

It’s not until she’s safely out of the shop that he even chances a glimpse at Freddie. He’s beaming triumphantly, fanning himself with the note with all the flair of a flamenco dancer as he smirks at Roger and says “Would you hit me if I said ‘I told you so’?” 

Roger shakes his head “My fingers are numb. Even if I wanted to I can’t” 

“In that case, I told you so. It’s thanks to me that we’re now rich” He swats Roger playfully over the head with the note. “Right, let’s get the damn hell out of here” 

“Oh thank god” Roger sighs, practically ready to cry with relief. All he’d wanted was to either be well fed or warm at home, and now (with minimal effort on his part it looks as though he’s going to get both) Moving away from the door only to retrieve an extra layer for the walk home he arrives back to the front of the shop just as Freddie’s retrieving the keys “What should we do for dinner?” 

“I was thinking beans on toast” Says Freddie. Totally deadpan. 

“What? Again?” He’s acutely aware that he sounds like a whiny child, but at this point he doesn’t even care. It being their go to meal (the perfect combination of cheap and filling) he’s probably eaten more baked beans in the last few months than in the entirety of the rest of his life combined, and after all they’ve been through this morning the last thing he wants is- 

Freddie laughs “For goodness sake I’m just messing with you dear. Sod it, we’re getting pasties” 

“My hero” Groans Roger. Careful to keep himself as bundled up in his clothes as possible he accepts the hand Freddie holds out to him, the pair thus leaving the shop arm in arm. 

And much as he maybe wouldn’t admit this outloud, this morning has been fun. Maybe even worth leaving his bed for. If anything it’s confirmed his preexisting suspicion that Freddie Mercury is some sort of mad genius, who understands far more than he does how to best manipulate the universe around him in order to get what he wants. It’s almost uncanny. Regardless, Roger’s under no delusion that he’s incredibly lucky to have him. Even if- no- _especially_ when times are cold or rough.__

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I forgot to say this at the start but basically everything I've written for this week was inspired by Dawn of Aquarius by nastally which you should all go and read because it's amazing 💗
> 
> Also I'm probably going to go back over this and fix it at some point because ahhhhhhh everything about it is driving me crazy. I highkey don't like what I've done here but I'll come back and sort it when I'm less behind on everything else.


	3. Day 2- Bubble Bath

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Freddie returns to Kensington after a bought of bronchitis and Roger is surprisingly sweet about it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Day 2! I actually had loads of fun writing this, but editing it back to back with day 1 made me realise that all my fics have the recurring themes of someone being tired or hungry or cold which is... asdfhgjkl idk it's like the holy trinity of hurt/comfort fics. I hope it's not too repetitive 💕

Of course, if there’d been absolutely anything that Freddie completely and totally wanted out of his November it was an unexpected bought of bronchitis. Because obviously, what with university, the market stall, and all his other numerous obligations he definitely has the time to spend three weeks hacking his lungs out, unable to do anything except regret all his life decisions and pray for a swift death. Brian had suggested that perhaps this is a sign he needs to quit smoking. Freddie’s inclined to believe that until Brian himself suffers through the horror of an inflamed trachea he can keep his fucking mouth shut. 

It’s not been all awful though; much as being coddled is irritating Freddie’s never one to say no to spending a week in a fully heated house with three hot meals a day, courtesy of his mother. Moreover it’s given him an amazing excuse to skive from his lectures. While Roger had been trekking back and forth between the market and the university Freddie had been reclining on a sofa without a care in the world. Sadly though all good things must come to an end, hence here he is. Alone on a rainy street catching the last Sunday bus back to Kensington. 

It’s a forty minute journey on a good day, and that’s not counting the twenty minutes he’s already spent waiting for the damn thing. If he weren’t both sick of his parents hovering and desperate to see Roger again he’d have already turned around and abandoned the whole enterprise ages ago. However he’s already here now, and it being already dark it’s too late to begin heading home on foot. Much as he’s exhausted he’s committed. 

Which is unfortunate, because although the worst of the illness has definitely passed that doesn’t mean he doesn’t still feel like utter shit. On his back his rucksack seems to be moulded to his shoulders, the combination of residual fever sweat and drizzling rain making it impossible for him to tell where skin ends and fabric begins. Further the weight isn’t helped by the fact that Jer had insisted on thrusting multiple plastic tubs of leftovers on him because “You’re both so skinny! You and that nice dear Roger” And again, while Freddie’s never one to decline a free meal (and Roger absolutely isn’t) he can’t help but wish his bag was even a pound lighter. 

When the bus finally rolls around the corner he could almost cry with relief. Prying his ridiculously heavy feet off the pavement he takes the arduous steps needed to make it on board. There’s a horrifying moment when he realises he can’t feel his fare for the bus jingling inside his pocket, but luckily a moment later it’s revealed to be safely tucked into his wallet. Taking a seat downstairs near the back (Him and Roger together prefer the top at the front, but he’s too tired to even consider trekking up the stairs) he closes his eyes and drops his head against the window. Part one is over. Now all he has to do is survive the journey to Kensington. If he can make it the whole way there without falling asleep then it should be a fairly smooth ride home. 

Coughing roughly into his sleeve he suppresses his nausea as the vehicle pulls off. Perhaps he’d miscalculated; he certainly doesn't feel well enough for this journey now he’s actually making it. Despite how little time he’s been sat down for the windows are already steaming up with a gross visceral humidity that’s making his head ache as the bus crawls through the London traffic. And yet the sheer warmth generated by the body heat of his fellow passengers is doing nothing to warm him up, so he remains uncomfortably chilled to his core. No matter how tightly he pulls his coat around his shoulders he can’t seem to create more than a surface level warmth that does nothing for the cold that’s settled deep inside his lungs. 

Logic, plus the little Freddie knows about biology from Roger, tells him that this is probably still a lingering effect of his bronchitis, but that knowledge isn’t particularly helpful. All it does is add to the growing number of reasons as to why he’s definitely going to start wearing a germ mask out in public. If he never gets a cold again it’ll be too soon. 

With a heavy sigh that borders on tearful he looks out the window, gutted when he realises they’re still barely half a mile from his initial stop. It’s going to be a long forty minutes. 

He feels Roger before he sees him; with an exponential amount of force the blond hurls himself at Freddie, gripping him in a vice like embrace and only letting go when his victim begins hacking his lungs up as a result. 

“Shit, sorry” Roger pulls away, an apologetic grin on his face that can’t hide his delight. 

When he’s finally got his breath back Freddie huffs “Roger it’s barely been a week. For goodness sake you’d think I’d have been gone for years” With a ridiculous amount of effort he slings his bag off his shoulders. As expected, the house is no less cold than the London streets, but at least it's not raining in the hallway. That’s a plus at any rate. 

“It’s felt like years” Replies Roger. Despite his almost irritating cheerfulness to his credit he does immediately bend down to help Freddie remove his shoes “I’ve had no one to argue with over the evening telly, I can eat whatever the hell I want, I can get up when I like… And it’s been absolutely awful” He grins up at his friend, who manages to spare him an insincere, exhausted smile. 

“Well it’s good to know I’ve been missed” Says Freddie. Then, upon studying Roger’s face closer he adds “What?” 

There’s a light in the blond’s eyes and a cheekiness to his smile that adds a whole air of suspect to his being. This isn’t helped by the fact that in response he merely makes a sound of faux curiosity that’s so fake it may as well be made of plastic. 

Freddie rolls his eyes “Don’t be like that. I’ve just come all the way from damn Heathrow on the bloody bus, I’m not in the mood for mind games” Bitterly he tosses his coat away onto the floor. He hadn’t thought that it was making much of a difference to his body temperature, but the second it’s off his shoulders he begins to shiver. Brilliant. 

Roger rolls his eyes “Fine. I’ve got a surprise for you” 

Again Freddie huffs “If it’s not dinner then I’m turning around and going home” Which is obviously not true, but he’s hungry and cold enough that he’ll probably cry if Roger hasn’t prepared something hot and plentiful. 

“Well, it’s not quite dinner but trust me. You’ll like it” 

“Hm” Freddie sniffs. Stepping out of his shoes he reluctantly follows his friend down the hall. Much as he loves Roger a combination of irritated fatigue and their collective lack of money means that his hopes for this “surprise” are far from high. Something which is only cemented when the pair reach the foot of the staircase. 

Staring up at the almost dizzyingly high incline Freddie looks pointedly at Roger. To his credit the blond appears somewhat apologetic, but his cheerful demeanor remains undiminished as he leads him up the stairs. With little other choice Freddie grasps the bannister sourly and treks behind Roger, deliberately taking his time and spitefully refusing to speed up, even though he probably has the strength to go somewhat faster. 

By the time he reaches the landing Roger has already disappeared through the open bathroom door. Unable to make anything out through the blinding glow of the aforementioned rooms light Freddie apprehensively enters “Roger what- Oh” 

His voice dies in his throat at the scene before him. There, spilling over with fluffy, fragrant bubbles is their bathtub, full almost to the brim with steaming water. From here Freddie can’t gauge the exact temperature of the liquid, but it’s hot enough that the mirror opposite is covered in a layer of condensation so thick the surface of the object has turned opaque. There’s even a single sad looking candle glowing on the edge of the tub. 

Overcome with shock and gratitude and delight Freddie gapes open mouthed at Roger. 

“It took me bloody ages and we’re definitely out of hot water, but I thought you’d appreciate it” Explains his friend. Now the grinning makes sense. After having put all of this together it’s logical that he’s feeling beyond pleased with himself. 

“We don’t have the money to fill the bath” Says Freddie numbly. It’s the sort of thing he feels as though he ought to say, and totally doesn’t mean. He can’t recall the last time he had a bath. Even while he’d been at home he’d stuck to showers to save money. And now there’s one right in front of him, hot and steamy and brimming over with bubbles, just waiting to soothe his aching body. 

Roger shrugs “Consider it an early christmas present then” He beams, clapping Freddie on the back just a little too hard for his sore frame “Come on, it’s full now. I can’t exactly return it to the Thames can I?” 

“I don’t think it comes from the Thames” Replies Freddie. For the first time this evening he feels a genuine smile tug at the edges of his exhausted lips “At least I sincerely hope it doesn’t. Maybe that’s how I got bronchitis, from exposure to disgusting, diseased...” 

The blond waves a hand “Nah. Trust me, I’m a biology student. If it actually came from the river you’d have cholera or plague or something awful like that” 

“Good point” Freddie steps forward slowly and dips a hand into the foamy water. As expected it’s deliciously hot, perfectly straddling the line between scorching but not so far as to be painful. He turns back to Roger “I’ll be honest, I had no idea you had it in you. I thought the surprise would be something shit like-” He’s interrupted by a cough “I don’t know. Not this”

Roger grins “What can I say? I have a secret romantic side” 

“No wonder you’re so popular with the ladies, if this is how you treat them” 

“I don’t treat every lady like this, imagine the water bills” Roger pats him on the back “Right, hurry up before it gets cold” 

Freddie doesn’t need to be told twice. With Roger downstairs attempting to work out how to reheat Jer’s leftovers he luxuriates in the water, relishing in the soothing solitude that’s only broken when Roger returns briefly to bring him a cup of tea. And if Freddie weren’t already committed to marrying him here and now just for the bath alone then that would’ve been the icing on the cake. 

It’s only after all the bubbles have melted and his hands have become almost unrecognisably pruney that Freddie finally pries himself away from the bath. Having been sat down for so long he’s a little unsteady on his feet, but the heat has worked miracles on his aching muscles, so returning to his bedroom and donning some pyjamas is a small chore. 

“Are you decent?” Roger’s voice is followed by a hammering on the door. To himself Freddie laughs; despite how unexpectedly nurturing he’s been tonight Roger still hasn’t managed to work out how to knock like a normal human being. 

“Morally no, but I’m fully dressed if that’s what you mean” Replies Freddie. His bed is a small, squeaky thing that must have been assembled in the Victorian era, nevertheless he moves over to make room for his friend, who wastes no time in joining him on top of the covers. 

Wasting no time Roger wraps an arm around his shoulder and pulls him close. Under the lingering scent of warm bubble bath Freddie can smell the unmistakable scent of Jer’s cooking clinging to Roger’s shirt. 

“How was it? The bath I mean” Says Roger. 

“Wonderful” Breathes Freddie, closing his eyes as Roger begins to run a hand through his hair “If I hadn’t started to prune I’d have stayed there all night” 

Roger hums “I’m glad you didn’t. I’ve missed you” 

“I’ve missed you too” Replies Freddie. Despite his misgivings about coming all the way back to Kensington he’s now infinitely grateful that he did “Thank you. You’ll definitely regret it when you look at the water bill but it was still incredibly thoughtful of you” 

With a snort of affectionate laughter Roger ruffles his hair before sliding off the bed to fetch dinner. As if he couldn’t be anymore perfect tonight he doesn’t bother asking Freddie if he can make the journey downstairs to the sofa, and instead brings the food back upstairs with him. Eating practically on top of one another they watch as the drizzle outside devolves into a downpour. Not usually one for the rain it’s surprising how much delight Freddie takes in watching the sheets of water wash over the window, relishing in the feeling of being inside and warm and well fed and no longer outside in the cold. 

After dinner is over the pair stay huddled together, neither in any great rush to move. Being almost totally comfortable Freddie can feel the urge to sleep tugging gently at the edges of his mind, beckoning him closer and closer towards the peaceful oblivion of unconsciousness. A couple of times the need to cough wrenches him from his comfortable drowsiness, but even just being here has made a tangible difference to his health. He feels better. The coughs are less wracking and far easier to stifle. The low grade fever that he just hasn’t been able to shake appears to have finally broken. 

For the first time in what feels like an eternity he’s totally relaxed. Under Roger’s administrations he drifts pleasantly in and out of sleep, feeling cosy and safe and content. 

He’s just on the verge of slipping into a truly deep slumber when he’s woken by a sudden jolting against him, followed by the sound of heavy barking coughs. Once he’s over the shock of being so thoroughly startled Freddie looks up at Roger, who’s glaring at him between wheezes, as if he can’t believe Freddie would have the audacity to get him sick after everything he’s done this evening. 

“Sorry” Freddie tries to hide the smile creeping at the edges of his mouth because it’s clearly not funny, especially since Roger’s been so kind to him tonight, but then at the same time after listening to his bravado about how he rarely gets sick on account of his “Fantastic” immune system for the last month Freddie can’t help but feel the tiniest bit of schadenfreude. Just a tiny bit. 

“Damn right you should be” Roger coughs again, this time breaking off with a groan “God my head hurts” 

“I'm surprised it took you this long dear” Says Freddie “But now I think about it I don’t think you could’ve caught it from me. The timelines don’t add up at all. Whatever got me must still be going around” 

Roger raises his eyebrows, frowning a little too, as if to say that now he’s ill that’s the last thing he cares about. Doubtless the majority of his ire isn’t really directed at the who and how, but more at just being poorly as a whole. Although that being said it’s hard to take his anger seriously when he’s pouting like a child. 

“Oh don’t look at me like that” Freddie laughs “Come here” He tugs Roger back to his side, pulling the other man’s arm once more around his shoulders. 

Above him he hears Roger begin to mutter what is doubtless the start of a long string of obscenities but Freddie shushes him “Oh hush. It’s really not so bad, you’ll survive. Who knows? Play being sick well enough and you might get a bubble bath out of it”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope everyone who reads this has an amazing day and I'll see you guys tomorrow for aftercare I think? Idk I don't have my notes with me but ahaha I think tomorrow is aftercare 💕 xx


	4. Day 3- Aftercare

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Someone gets mugged and kisses are totally platonic.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Asdhjkl time for my obligatory rant about how much I hate what I've written. Ok I don't hate it but as I was editing I had a bit of a crisis about how this'll be the second fic in a row where something bad happens to Freddie and then Roger looks after him in the bathroom, and there's coldness and comfort and then dinner, so then last minute I tried to write something new that was just humour and nothing else but I was ultimately too lazy to finish it so here we are. Back to the cliché I guess. 
> 
> But ahaha it's ok because tomorrow's prompt is my favourite. Tomorrow is when I finally stop restraining myself and I jump all in with the Roger whump because let's face it, it was going to happen eventually.

There’s an alien quality to the mirror, despite the fact that Freddie uses it every day and has done for months now. Perhaps it’s not the object itself that’s unfamiliar, but rather what it’s reflecting, the offending image subsequently contaminating the rest of the room with its strangeness. Lucky for him though; if the face in front of him registered as his own it might be too much for him to handle. Today’s been difficult enough without having to fully acknowledge the physical consequences of his earlier misfortune. 

Freddie leans closer to the glass. The sight makes his lip tremble and his hands shake, but he swallows down his distress and reminds himself to view it objectively. It’s not his face, just a problem that needs to be fixed. 

Taking another deep breath he tries again to go in with the cotton wool pad. Slippery with alcohol the cheap fabric desperately wants to slide out of his hand, but he keeps his grip steady as he brings it to his face. Immediately though the burning sting has him wincing. He tries to hold his nerve but the pain only intensifies, making his eyes prickle so he can no longer see what he’s doing. With a stifled cry of frustration he tosses the wool down into the sink and slides to the floor. 

Once there his first instinct is to curl in on himself, but the pain in his ribs prevents him from doing so, which only makes matters worse. He’s been at this for fifteen bloody minutes, and much as he wants to shout and rage at the unfairness of it all his anger is infuriatingly manifesting itself through tears rather than determination. For goodness sake all he wants to do is have a hot shower and forget the entirety of this awful day, but he can’t until he’s dealt with this. It’s so agonisingly unjust. 

He’s so lost in himself that the sudden impatient hammering on the door nearly gives him a heart attack. 

“Oi! You coming or not?” Roger sounds pissy, voice pitching high as it so often does when he’s becoming frustrated. 

With his lip curling into what must be an ugly snarl Freddie subtly clears his throat and calls back “Won’t be a minute!” 

Luckily it’s enough to disguise his current emotional state, as Roger merely pounds on the door again “That’s exactly what you said ten minutes ago! I don’t care if your bloody eyeliner needs reapplying, the Chinese is going cold!” 

“Oh start without me if it’s that fucking important!” Shouts Freddie. He regrets the outburst immediately, practically kicking himself for letting his emotions steal the reins from reason. A simple apology would’ve been enough to send Roger away. Anger will merely antagonise him. 

“For fucks-” There’s a furious thud from the other side of the wall. Then the door crashes open, and there, predictably is Roger. If only they’d been able to afford a flat with functional locks. Although that being said there’s probably very few locks that are truly Roger proof. 

Amidst the commotion Freddie doesn’t have time to wipe away the tears now streaking down his cheeks. Besides, even if he could somehow have magically cleared all signs of distress from his face that would’ve done nothing to disguise his purple eye and split lip. He’s pretty sure there’s a grizzly gash down the side of his elbow too, but thanks to the limits of human articulation he can’t be sure. 

Roger gapes at him, eyebrows raised in horror “Fucking hell… What happened to you?” In an instant his anger has dissipated into a tentative alarm. 

“Nothing, nothing” Freddie wipes his face with the back of his hand and attempts to pull himself upright, using the sink as a crutch. 

This of course does little to lessen Roger’s obvious panic “It certainly doesn’t look like nothing” He makes a cautious move to get closer to his friend, but stops when Freddie waves him away. 

“I uh, I wasn’t looking where I was going” Freddie has to pause for a moment to swallow and wipe the corners of his eyes “Walked into a bus stop. Silly of me really” 

The erratic tone of voice has Roger frowning even further “Fred…” 

“It’s not important” Says Freddie. Now he’s gone and bothered Roger, which’ll only make things worse. For goodness sake can’t anything go right today?

“It is to me” 

“If I tell you you’ll get angry” 

“Someone did this to you?” There’s a dangerous tone creeping into Roger’s voice. Exactly why Freddie had been reluctant to tell him in the first place. 

“See!” He says accusingly, before immediately feeling guilty for doing so. It’s not fair to try and take it out on Roger when he’s only trying to help, but still. With his emotions running incredibly high he almost can’t help it. 

“I just…” Roger runs a hand through his hair and takes a deep breath. When he next speaks his voice is cooler and controlled but still with an underlying note of fury “Fucking christ who did this?” 

Freddie bites his lip and lowers his gaze. Deep down he’s not entirely sure why he’s so humiliated to admit it, but on the surface all he can really feel is shame. So much so that it takes him a good while to force the words out. Clearly Roger’s not going anywhere, and he’s already given away too much not to explain himself. But that doesn’t make it any easier. 

“Muggers” He says eventually “I suppose it’s just bloody lucky my wallet only had the bus fare in. Shame though, I liked that wallet… It was a gift from Kash you know?” His voice cracks uncomfortably at the end of the sentence. Ever since it’d happened he’d tried desperately not to think about the love worn wallet that his sister had gifted him as an eighteenth birthday present. It hadn’t been the most expensive or fancy accessory, but it’d been his and it had come from her. Which of course had made it worth more than gold. Now it’s in someone else's hands. Or perhaps now lying abandoned in a gutter. He’s not sure which makes him feel worse. Maybe the latter, as it means there’s a chance he could find it again, but likely won’t. 

As his eyes mist up again he hears Roger say “Oh Fred. Shit I’m so sorry” 

“It’s alright” He replies. Even though it really isn’t. More than anything he just doesn’t want to dwell on it, much less talk about it. Better to try and forget the wallet entirely really. 

Roger nods, understanding dawning as his bites his lip. After several seconds of pensive silence he looks back at Freddie and says kindly but decidedly “That needs cleaning” Referring of course to the mess on his face.

“I know. I tried to do it myself but…” 

Again Roger nods “Scrapes and that sort of thing are a pain in the arse to clear up, especially if they’re near your eye. Come on, sit here. I’ll take care of it” He pats the edge of the bathtub. 

Stiffly lowering himself onto the frigid porcelain Freddie watches numbly as Roger gathers up his earlier supplies, pairing them with various tools from their medicine cupboard. Over the next few minutes he tenderly dabs alcohol into the various cuts and bruises. As he works his tongue is stuck out a little in concentration, except for when he’s mumbling apologies for the sting of the alcohol or retrieving frozen peas from the kitchen for his patients black eye. 

Throughout the process Freddie remains quiet. Even though he’s not oblivious to the concerned looks Roger throws at him when he thinks he’s not looking he can’t bring himself to speak. The longer he sits here the more his thoughts drift to the incident. For goodness sake they’d taken all his money and his wallet. And what had he done? Barely fought back. He’d even cried for goodness sake. Why did they even have to pick on him anyway? There’d barely been any money in there at all. Why had he walked that way? Was it all just bad luck? Why did it have to be him? By the time Roger’s finished patching him up there’s a lump in his throat so large it’s almost painful to breathe. 

“There we go. Good as new” Roger grins at him, giving him a solid pat on the shoulder “The black eye probably won’t fade for a while, but if it’s any consolation you’ll be a huge hit with the ladies. Just make sure you tell them you got it in a bar fight or a-” He stops abruptly when he notices the tears once again spilling down his friends face. 

Unlike last time though these ones aren’t born from pain or anger. Pressing a hand to his mouth in a futile effort to contain the sobs building in his throat Freddie mutters “Sorry” 

Roger shakes his head “Don’t be” 

“It’s just so ridiculous. That was my fucking wallet. And even after I gave it to them they still…” Freddie’s cut off when his body is wracked by a convulsive sob. The combination of embarrassment and self pity and shame has finally overflowed, and he allows himself to be fully overcome by it, somewhat helpless to do anything else. 

Immediately his entire body is engulfed by a tight, soothing embrace. With his arms braced around Freddie’s shoulders and chin resting atop his head Roger holds him through it. He doesn’t make any snide remarks or offer useless advice, he merely keeps a reassuringly hard grasp of him. One that lacks judgement. A display of understanding and camaraderie. 

And Freddie in turn clutches onto him. After making his way home alone on the bus and spending a quarter of an hour trying to handle the situation all by himself it’s cathartic to finally unleash his anguish. 

As his sobs lessen into the occasional hitched breath he feels Roger above him place a reassuring kiss to the top of his head. Then another, just for good measure. Were they in any other situation Freddie might’ve questioned the action out loud, perhaps even deflected it with a joke to disguise the fact that it feels unbelievably nice, but for the time being he allows it to be a part of the overall comforting whole. No point unnecessarily torturing himself over it when he already feels so low. Besides, he and Roger (Who is definitely not interested in men and wouldn’t make such a move outside of the context of friendship and nothing else) have fallen asleep side by side, held hands, and cuddled before. What’s a little platonic kissing on top of that? Kisses above the lips aren’t for lovers in Freddie’s experience anyway. 

Yes. That’s why it feels so good. Because it’s friendly. A voice in the back of his mind reminds him that Brian’s never done this, and if he were to it wouldn’t feel as natural, as healing, but Freddie pushes it away. Roger’s not Brian. Speaking of Roger, he’s made no mention of it, which settles that the kisses aren’t a matter that needs to be discussed. 

So Freddie decides to let it be. 

Only when he feels somewhat like a functioning human again does Freddie pull away with a throaty laugh “Well… That was embarrassing. I’m very sorry about that. I didn’t ruin your shirt by crying into it did I?” 

Roger grins at him “Totally fine. Besides, it would’ve been sacrificed for the greater good” He’s scanning Freddie up and down with a look that’s part relief part lingering worry “Feel better?” 

Freddie shrugs “Not particularly. Actually that’s a lie. I don’t feel good, but I do feel better. So I suppose that’s something at least” 

“Fair enough. What about a cold takeaway, a game of scrabble and a cup of tea? How does that sound?” Asks Roger. And dammit if his affectionate smile hadn’t already cheered Freddie up somewhat the offer certainly does

“Like the most British way of cheering someone up in history” Replies Freddie with a sniff “But it sounds good” 

“Alright, I’ll go set it up” Roger pats him on the back and stands up fully, stretching his arms after crouching down for so long “Want to put your pyjamas on and meet me downstairs?”

Freddie nods. Accepting the hand Roger holds out to him he shakily gets up off the edge of the bath. His knees feel unsteady beneath him and his arms are jelly, and there’s still a numb hole of grief inside his chest at the loss of the wallet, but it no longer feels as though the entire world is ending. It’ll be ok eventually. Even if it feels like shit now. 

“Thank you” He says, giving his friend the best smile he can given the circumstances. 

The look he receives in return flushes him with warmth “Don’t mention it” Says Roger with a smile. And then he’s gone, the sounds of him putting the kettle on and setting up scrabble rapidly following. 

Turning back to the mirror one last time Freddie no longer sees an unfamiliar object looking back at him. Undoubtedly he still looks like utter shit. But the plasters and now clean scrapes are labours of love that make him smile despite himself. He’s very lucky to have Roger, he thinks, as he turns the tap on to wash the remaining layers of blood and grim from his hands. 

Little does he know that downstairs Roger is thinking the exact same of him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you're all having an amazing day 💕 xx I'll see you tomorrow for copious amounts of Roger angst (I've said it before and I'll say it again- Hurting Roger is my best coping mechanism)


	5. Day 4- Drunken Confessions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A game of cards goes wrong and Roger's definitely not gay.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so glad I finally made it to today's prompt because I'll be honest, this is my favourite thing I've written 💗 xx asgdhfkl I just hope you guys like it as much as I do 
> 
> Oh and I nearly forgot but this one has two cliché fanfic songs to go with it. Yeah they're basic but I had them both on non stop as I was writing this so ahh here ya go 
> 
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=siO6dkqidc4
> 
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mGgMZpGYiy8

To say that Roger’s had a challenging week would be something of an understatement. If only he’d seen the signs on Monday then perhaps he would’ve just declared the whole of the next five days a lost cause and sensibly stayed in bed, but alas, hindsight is everything. 

Sunday night he’d had no sleep on account of the fire alarm going rouge (if he ever finds out which of the bastards in their block smashed it it he’s going to personally break all of their noses), and the resulting exhaustion meant that he’d arrived at university without his student card or any cash. Which by extension led to him having to trek all the way home just to recover the two, and by the time he’d returned his lectures had already finished. Tuesday had been no better; having left his and Freddie’s flat at seven he’d decided not to take the bus in order to save money and been caught in a monsterous thunder storm. So consequently he’d arrived at uni absolutely soaking wet, and had spent the entirety of an hour long test too distracted by how bloody cold he felt to focus on the questions. And then when he’d gone home and tried to take a hot shower in order to make himself feel better he’d slipped and whacked his knee on the side of the tub. Not one to ignore his blessings he’d been grateful that it’d been his leg rather than his face or his neck, but the gratitude had started to wane thin once the joint became purple and swollen and stiff. 

This is to say nothing of Wednesday and Thursday, the former of which had seen him lose five pounds plus his last pack of cigarettes on the bus (leading to a day without lunch or dinner) and the latter he’d spent in a bitter argument with Brian that’d made him so angry he’d snapped a drum stick mid song. Which is of course another few pounds he’ll never get back. 

Then there’d been today. Today had seen him receive the marks for Tuesday’s disastrous test (needless to say he’ll be retaking) and answer a call from his mother, who rang to tell him that his grandmother had been taken ill. And just to top it all off he’d slept through his alarm and missed an entire day’s worth of lectures but still woken up absolutely bone tired, which wouldn’t have been so bad had it not been for the fact that today’s classes were about when his exams are. 

So yes, all in all it’s been a crap last few days. 

Naturally then it makes sense that after such a long, shitty week his currently very drunk brain just wants to cling. To hold onto Freddie, inhaling the faint scent of cheap conditioner and letting the warmth of his friends body engulf him as he watches several other tipsy young adults play cards. The visceral need for physical comfort that’s been plaguing him so persistently recently has come totally to the surface, and without the self restraint granted by sobriety he’s finally given himself fully over to it. 

However with it has also come a seething jealousy. It’s unusual; as a drunk Roger is indeed prone to being overly affectionate, but this is typically accompanied with joy and good humour, and the stereotypical “You’re my best mate!” Sort of attitude. Rarely is he melancholic or resentful. That’s more Brian’s domain. 

But right now the hand Freddie has around him doesn’t feel like enough. As bratty and immature as it sounds Roger wants (No, craves) his full attention. Even if presently he has nothing intelligent to say to him. Anytime Freddie’s focus remotely shifts he finds himself quietly simmering. Biting down the urge to tell the entire gaggle of card players to fuck off and leave them to it. What kind of arsehole likes card games anyway? House parties should be for… well anything but cards. 

Thus it follows that his interest in the game has, for the last hour, been fairly minimal. His bubble of resentment is enough to keep him entertained, that is until he hears someone whoop and shout- 

“Five of hearts! That’s a dare Freddie!” 

An irritatingly loud cheer goes up through the room. While various strangers shout various drunken suggestions one stands out above the others. 

“Dare you to… Kiss the person on your left!” 

Freddie says it before Roger’s inebriated mind can figure it out “Well, that’s Roger” He declares. Having drank surprisingly little he doesn’t sound especially bothered by the challenge, but he doesn’t sound particularly enthusiastic about it either. 

“Urgh!” A man somewhere across the circle makes a retching noise

“What? Are you saying you wouldn’t snog Taylor?” Laughs another “I would. He’s prettier than half the birds you’ve ever shagged!” 

“I wouldn’t because I’m not bent! He might be prettier than half the birds but that doesn’t mean he is one” 

“Freddie you don’t have to do it. You can do a forfeit” 

Around the entire circles there’s cries of protests, some coming from women who doubtless want to see the two prettiest men in the room kiss, but others coming from men curious as to whether either of them have the guts to do such a disgusting thing. 

“Is Roger even playing? I don’t think he’s moved for the last hour” 

All eyes in the room swivel to him, and Roger finds himself gripped by an uncharacteristically petrifying stage fright. There was something comfortable about sitting angrily in the corner, invisible. After the week he’s had he just wants to be left alone by the general world at large, but then again if this is what it takes to get him the attention he’s so desperately craving then he’ll do it. Sod what the card players think. All he cares about is Freddie. 

“Oi! I bloody am!” Struggling into a more upright position Roger glares at those arround him “Just haven’t been paying attention. ‘Thas all” 

Freddie looks around the room. There’s a smile on his face but Roger can see right through it to the fear in his eyes. He looks like a cornered animal. Afraid to make a move in case it brings the pack of dogs down on him. 

Then he grins “Alright” He nudges Roger’s shoulder “Pucker up blondie. I’ve been told I’m a fabulous kisser” 

While Roger knows that he himself looks like a thoroughly exhausted mess Freddie is, as always— . With his eyes beautifully outlined in black and a fur coat falling elegantly off his shoulders he could easily pass for a vogue model or something similarly ethereal. For a moment Roger’s a little transfixed. Freddie does look lovely. And still terrified. Maybe the others around them can’t seen. But he’s toying with the bracelet on his wrist and cracking jokes about how he’s never done anything like this before that read as entirely overcompensating, but that’s only because Roger knows him. None of the squealing card players around them know Freddie like he does. 

Wait, what’s Roger meant to be doing again? Right. He’s kissing Freddie. That’s fine. He’d been distracted for a moment there. A little unsteady he leans backwards to give himself more room before pushing clumsily forward. 

The entire room goes wild, but as their mouths meet Roger’s focus isn’t on them. Rather it’s on the way the tender brush of Freddie’s lips is making him feel. On account of being far from a virgin Roger is all too familiar with the swooping tightness in his chest, the spark of excitement that ripples through him, and oh… This is new. Not the feelings themselves, but who they’ve been provoked by. As the milliseconds tick along he’s not sure if he desperately wants the kiss to continue or if he wants to pull away in horror. There’s so many people watching them, and it’s almost perverse that he’s having this sensual epiphany with such an audience. 

When Freddie finally pulls away he’s left feeling content, disgusted and lost all at once. What does it mean? He’s slept with hundreds of girls, some of whom barely managed to make him feel anything beyond just barely horny. But that? That kiss was up there with some of his most pleasurable experiences. Or at least, up there with the snogs that preceded them. 

And yet despite the colossal collapse going on inside his head everyone else seems to have moved on. Here he is, plastered once again to Freddie’s side, and everyone is none the wiser. It was just a dare, and now that it’s been completed it’s been totally forgotten. Only to be brought up as a joke and a “Remember the crazy time when…” story. The thought makes Roger’s heart twist painfully. What on earth just happened to him? 

It’s only when he notices Freddie frowning down at him that he realises his eyes are prickling with hot unshed tears.

“What’s the matter dear?” Freddie’s voice is gentle and low, averting the attention of those around them “It wasn’t the kiss was it? I’m sorry if you feel like you were forced into it” 

“No. Kiss was fine. M’just feeling a lot” Roger wipes his eyes clumsily on Freddie’s shoulder “I have a lot of feelings. Lot of the time” He thrusts one arm out in what’s meant to be a punctuative gesture “Alcohol makes me feel things” 

His friend tuts sympathetically “The trick is to drink through the sadness” Pushing Roger gently off his shoulder he pulls himself to his feet “Want me to fetch you something?” 

It takes what little control Roger has left not to whine. He opens his mouth to decline. To plead for Freddie to stay. To beg him not leave him alone with all these strangers. But there’s a strange fear gripping at his vocal chords, and Freddie’s already left for the kitchen before he can ask. 

Roger looks around at the card players. None of them pay him any mind. Of course they don’t, he’s just being drunk and stupid. He’s so alone. So isolated. It hurts. Brian’s angry with him, and Freddie’s just left and his feelings are a joke to be tossed around as part of a dumb card game. The alcohol is causing him to spiral dangerously from upset into distraught territory, and it’s far from helped by the fact that he’s exhausted (both physically and emotionally) from the events of the past week. 

Tears fall down his face as he staggers upright. He’s not sure where he’s going but he needs to get away from here. Unfortunately in his efforts to remain standing he knocks a glass off the coffee table beside him, causing it to shatter loudly on the linoleum. There’s silence. Roger stares down at the shards of glass coating his sparkly converse, each piece looking all the more fragmented through his streaming eyes. 

“I’m going… Going for a smoke” He mutters. With more tears pouring down his face by the second he can’t get out of there fast enough. 

However once he makes it to the relative safety of the back garden he opts not to have a cigarette. For one because, as aforementioned, he lost his smokes earlier in the week, and two because he’s too humiliated to let anyone see his distraught face. Instead he finds an empty spot of wall away from the smokers to sink down against and lets himself be fully overcome with sobs. First his terrible week, and then the kiss, and now this. Why is he so useless? He can’t do anything right. Why on earth does Freddie or anyone put up with him? 

Time has lost all meaning. In all likelihood he’s probably only been sobbing for five minutes, but looking up at the seemingly infinite light of the stars it feels to him as though it’s been an eternity. In his inebriated state the pain feels oddly heightened, with his cries echoing deep inside his chest and throat as his face twists into a grotesque display of emotion. It feels as though it’ll never stop. It’s a permanent agony. 

“Roger?” The sound of Freddie’s voice washes over him, bringing with it a soothing tide of relief. 

As soon as he feels the other man’s hand on his shoulder Roger’s clinging onto him as hard as he can 

“Oh. Oh shh, it’s alright” Soothes Freddie “What on earth’s the matter dear?” 

Roger swallows. Through his drunken stupour he’s aware that he sounds somewhat like a whiny child when he says “This week. It’s been really fucking hard. Well it hasn’t. But it’s felt like it you know?” He bites his lip, looking up at Freddie who for some reasons seems to be swaying dangerously. Or maybe that’s he himself. Roger can’t tell. 

“I know. You’ve been through the wars quite a bit recently haven’t you?” Reaching out Freddie runs a hand sympathetically through the drunk mans hair But you’ve handled it so well. Better than I would’ve done at any rate” He chuckles but Roger can’t bring himself to laugh. 

“I’m…” Roger sniffs, wiping his eyes on his sleeve “M’gonna go home” 

“Really?” Freddie looks down at him sadly. There’s a clear conflict on his face as he looks between Roger and the party and then back again. After what can only be a moment but feels more like an eternity he nods “Alright. Let me get my coat and say goodbye to everyone and then we can be off”

Roger tries to shake his head vehemently but he’s too dizzy to actually do so “You don’t have to. You can stay, I can go… go by myself” 

His pleas fall on deaf ears “Don’t be ridiculous” Declares Freddie. Once again he reaches a tender hand out and runs it through Roger’s hair “I’m not letting you navigate the streets of London alone in this state” Mind made up he stands to leave. 

“Freddie wait…” Says Roger, before his brain catches up with his mouth. The other man turns around and he scrambles dumbly for what it is he wants to say. Luckily his inebriated mind supplies the words “I love you” before he can restrain them. 

Freddie smiles warmly at him “I love you too” 

“Even when I’m being ridiculous and drunk and-?” 

“Especially when you’re being ridiculous and drunk” He says. The sincerity in his voice is almost moving. 

In fact, it’s almost enough to make Roger open his mouth to launch into an emotional tirade about the kiss. To apologise for feeling so strange about it. Maybe even to ask if perhaps Freddie had felt the same way. But as with earlier he falls victim to a crippling anxiety and he just can’t bring himself to. So he stays quiet and watches as Freddie disappears into the house. Ah well, at least they’re going home now. They’ll be together, even if it won’t be as intimate or evocative as the kiss. Surely nothing could ever be, he thinks morosely.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mini rant- I wasn't going to post this so early but I've spent like two hours napping today, and I still feel like utter death (have I been well since university started? Ashdjfkl nope) so as soon as this is up I'm going STRAIGHT back to bed. Ahahaha if I'm still functioning tomorrow I'll see you guys then for domestic fluff 💗 xx


	6. Day 5- Domestic Fluff

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> No one goes to university because school is hard but bed is warm.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A short fluff break from the main "Will they get together or not?" plot.

It’s with an ear piercing wail that Freddie’s dream is shattered, launching him unpleasantly from the middle of a deep sleep to painfully awake. There’s a painfully unpleasant moment where his barely conscious brain scrambles in panic for the source of the noise, but naturally it’s just the alarm clock. Shrilly heralding the arrival of seven am and drilling into his head like a jackhammer. 

Blearily he opens one eye- This being all he can manage on account of being so tired it feels like his individual pores are screaming- and finds that he’s currently got a face full of blonde locks. Which obviously doesn’t help his confusion. After clumsily wiping the majority from off his cheeks (and unfortunately having to spit a few stray ones out of his mouth) he props himself up on one elbow. 

On account of his double vision it takes a while for the figure beside him to fully materialise, but after a while he reveals himself to be Roger. Still dressed in yesterday’s shirt with his arms skewed haphazardly over the edge of the mattress in a reflection of how carelessly the two of them had stumbled into bed in the early hours of the morning. 

Oh, now Freddie remembers. Internally he groans and promises himself that he’s never staying up till five two nights in a row ever again. The least his past self could’ve done was pulled an all nighter and spared him the agony of having to leave his bed now. 

Shaking himself a little to prevent his eyes from closing like they desperately want to he gives Roger a small poke in the shoulder.

“Morning” He yawns. 

“Hmm” Roger makes a noise that just about confirms that he’s alive, if barely conscious. 

“Roger it’s seven o’clock” Freddie attempts to pat him clumsily on the back but misses and hits the mattress “We’re going to be late” Leaning over the top of his flatmate he makes the fatal error of turning off the alarm clock, a mistake that will only bite him in the arse later. 

Roger grunts. Tugging the duvet around himself tighter he mumbles something that sounds like “Five more minutes?” 

“Don’t be ridiculous. Five more minutes will turn into another hour and you know it. And then you’ll miss your nine o’clock lecture and I’ll miss my seminar and then…” Freddie’s cut off by a yawn so wide it makes his vision turn static for a moment “...and then we’ll both fail our degrees, is that what you want?” 

“Not an important lecture” Says Roger. 

“By your admission or the universities?” 

“Hmm” Roger shuffles, burying himself deeper under the covers so that the duvet covers his ears. 

“You’ll regret it if you don’t go” Says Freddie. Although it takes him longer to reply than it should’ve done on account of his eyes sliding shut of their own accord for a moment. 

From under the covers Roger says something that might be “Ask for notes later” 

If Freddie were Brian he’d probably press the issue. Demand to know if Roger will actually take the notes from someone or ultimately just won’t bother (the latter being the most likely). However in his current state Freddie has to conceede that his roommate does, unfortunately, make a good point. Then he has to mentally scolded himself for disregarding his education so easily. They’re doing… he doesn’t remember, but it’s something important that they’re doing in his seminar today. Something that’ll likely be in his final exam. If he misses it he’ll have so much more work to do over the weekend. It’d be a total act of self sabotage not to go. 

And yet… He’s at the stage where even just being awake is nauseating. Every single cell in his body is screaming at him to just take those vital extra few minutes in bed. To close his eyes and join Roger back under the covers. Even though he’s completely totally aware that if he does so there’s a chance he’ll just fall asleep and ultimately won’t get up at all. It’d be a risky move to say the least. 

With one last bleary glance at the alarm clock he lowers himself back onto the mattress and settles his head against the pillow. Almost instinctively Roger rolls over to greet him, the already fast asleep man cuddling up against him and engulfing Freddie in an amazingly enticing heat. He sighs, there’s nothing quite like being in bed. But he’s only here temporarily, he reminds himself. Just until he’s fully woken up. 

However through a combination of the comforting warmth of his companions body and the softness of the duvet Freddie finds himself sinking deeper and deeper into the pillows. Perhaps Roger’s right, another five minutes can’t hurt, surely? If he’s less than half an hour late then it won’t be so bad… He’ll catch up… Pretend the bus was late or something… 

When Freddie’s next aware of anything it’s of a bright mid afternoon sun glaring down at him through the curtains. Unlike earlier this time his head is remarkably clear, and there’s no longer an exhausted ache weighing his every muscle down, however the downside to this is that it takes him no time at all to realise that’s it’s now twenty past twelve. He’s missed the seminar completely. 

Groaning he rolls over onto his front and buries his head in the pillow. This weekend is going to be an absolute pain. Not to mention how much effort it’ll be to track someone from the seminar down to give him the notes. For goodness sake. 

Next to him he hears a snort of laughter “So… Looks like five more minutes didn’t work out”

With a sigh Freddie rolls back over and hits Roger with a pillow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading 💕 Ahaha tomorrow we return to the plot.


	7. Day 7- Hand Holding

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Freddie and Roger get horrendously wine drunk.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys, so uh, I sort of lost all motivation to write and as such I didn't finish yesterdays prompt. If I get it done I'll post it sometime in the future xx Similarly I was going to add more to this entry (There was going to be an ending scene with Brian and such) but like I said, my motivation died. 
> 
> I'm actually kind of gutted I didn't get yesterday's done, so ahh idk you'll just have to imagine that somewhere between Friday's prompt and today the two of them worked everything out and are now dating x

“Alright… so maybe spending our entire weeks budget on a date was a bad idea” Freddie giggles, almost tripping over the restaurant threshold as he and Roger spill out onto the street. There’s a large red wine stain all down the front of his fur coat, nevertheless to Roger’s alcohol addled brain he looks absolutely gorgeous. Bright eyed and well dressed and practically glowing in the light of the street lamps. 

But the singer is right, maybe tonight was a bad idea. When they’d decked themselves out in their finest, most offensively extravagant clothes earlier that evening they hadn’t planned to eat and drink their way through as much as their meagre savings could buy, and yet here they are. Full of wine and dinner and now outside in the cool November chill after being thrown out for “Disorderly behaviour” If he were a little more sober Roger might be angry, given how much money they’ve spent only to be kicked unceremoniously out over a small wine accident, but as it stands the situation is hilarious. 

“Nah, live a little” Roger nudges Freddie with a grin, a mistake possibly as it causes the other man to wobble precariously in his ridiculously high boots “Who needs money to eat anyway? I don’t. I don’t eat. I absorb nutrients through osmosis or diffusion, or... something like that” He breaks off with a snort of laughter, there being something ineffably funny about the idea of consuming like a plant as opposed to a human. 

“God” Freddie moans “I won’t need to eat for a week after that meal” As he speaks his hand migrates to the crest of his distended stomach, a visible side effect of the absurd portion of beef stroganoff they’d split between them. It could’ve lasted the pair for at least a few days, had it been a meal they’d made at home. But having paid for it they’d mutually decided that it would be a pity to leave any leftovers, hence between the two of them they’d eaten enough food for at least four people. 

Again Roger nudges Freddie “Well that’s lucky. Cause we don’t have the money to” 

“Shit, you’re right!” There’s a pause. Then the pair break down into drunken cackles, their current money predicament hysterical after three bottles of wine. Ah well, they’ve survived so far. They’ve scraped by through weeks where the need for text books, new drum sticks, medicine and the like have meant they’ve barely been able to afford a single packet of gravy for dinner. One night of over indulgence won’t be fatal in the long run. 

With a contented sigh Freddie slings an arm sloppily around Roger’s shoulders “When we’re famous and rich and everyone loves us… when that happens we’ll eat and drink like this every single bloody night!” He declares theatrically, thrusting both arms out and nearly smacking Roger round the face in the process. 

“Exactly! And no one’ll be able to throw us out for having too much fun!” 

“No because we’ll be able to bribe them to keep us in!” Says Freddie, before his eyes light up and he shouts “We’ll own the bloody restaurant!” 

Once more they errupt into a fit of laughter, and that’s exactly what Roger loves about being wine drunk with Freddie. It’s always a good time, especially on nights like these where it’s just the two of them. 

“Fuck” Roger runs a hand over his face, groaning through his giggles “Bri is going to be so disappointed when he finds out what we did”

Freddie gasps “He’ll be so unbelievably angry!” He claps a hand over his mouth before rapidly removing it when he has to laugh again. However the outburst causes him once again to teeter in his boots and he curses as his arms flail “Shit!” It’s only through sheer chance that he manages to avoid toppling over. 

After so much wine and food Roger’s not faring much better “Fuck, how on earth are we going to get home?” He asks, as a particularly wonky paving slab nearly causes he too to fall flat on his face. 

“Hold my hand” Says Freddie, grabbing at him with clumsy fingers “We can support each other” 

It sounds good in theory, and Roger never has any complaints with regards to holding Freddie’s hand, however, it proves to be less effective in practice. When one of them stumbles they inevitably pull the other off balance, meaning the pair are swaying dangerously down the street in some sort of drunken imitation of a three legged race. If anything they’re decidedly more wobbly now than they were when they were apart. 

“I don’t think this is helping” Laughs Roger. 

“Hush” Freddie leans over and places a sloppy kiss on his cheek “I don’t care. I want to hold your hand” 

Roger bats him away playfully, narrowly avoiding taking Freddie’s eye out with his fingernails “What if someone sees?” He asks in a mock whisper. The tone he’s going for is a serious, secretive whisper, but he can’t quite keep a straight face and it ends up being surrounded by several poorly stifled chuckles. 

“Fuck em. I’ll tell them you’re my brother” Grins Freddie confidently. 

“No one’ll believe that!” Shrieks Roger. For goodness sake the the general public might be stupid but they’re not blind. The idea that anyone could see a resemblance between the two of them is ludicrous and consequently hilarious. 

“Cousin then!” Says Freddie. Ignoring disapproving glances from passersby he tries to give the blond another kiss, however he misjudges how far he needs to lean over and inevitably loses his balance. Unwilling to relinquish each others hands the pair fall into a drunken tangle of limbs and fur, both of them laughing and squealing as they try in vain to stumble to their feet. 

“Ah fuck!” Roger curses as his own heels go out from under him and he’s left trapped on the pavement. 

Having finally managed to stagger to his feet Freddie offers the inebriated drummer a hand up. It takes all of his balance not to let Roger pull him back over, but soon enough they’re both somewhat vertical and continuing the arduous journey home again. 

And as they exchange kisses inbetween affectionate insults Roger feels like the luckiest, most well loved person in the world. Despite the fact that they’ll be living on shared cup a soups for the next week tonight was still totally worth it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So that's Froger week. Thank you so much to those of you who commented (emmaandorlando, nastally, and pumpkinlily this means you guys 💕) and I'll see you guys soon hopefully xx


End file.
